


Reunion

by deadburritochortles



Category: Broken Reality Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: 'how do i make you guys hate villain league as much as we kind of hate swap ua, And Grey, But only a bit, But only a little, Cannibalism, Casual Murder, Confinement, Conflict of Interests, Corpses, Cryptic I a p o l o g i z e profusely, Death, Dehumanization, Drugging, Future Fic, Gen, Gore, Human Experimentation, I, I accidently made this horrible I apologize, I apologize again Cryptic, I apologize profusely for what I've done to you, I keep killing people off, I keep saying sorry because I am, I made Jester Junko Enoshima, I mean, I tried?, I'm pretty sure I just made the entire League kin Junko Enoshima, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry Allie, Imprisonment, Isolation, JUST, Jester and Recruiter are on my hitlist, Loss, Murder, Night Clubs, Oh My God, P - Freeform, POV Alternating, Please Do Not Hate Me I Just Needed To Show Just How Bad The League Got, Please Forgive me, References to self-harm, Stabbing, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, There is not a singular good trait to be found i'm so fucking sorry, This became a Catalyst angst fic, This was all melancholy and then i decided to make Court an absolute ass, Torture, Wait this is kind of dark, Well sometimes at least, Wow, and here we are, and then they were like, but it devolved into Psychological Warfare, but like, but not like graphic, but now..., but to be fair the entire league is just full off assholes right now, by the way the numbers are just military time, by the way the time skip is five years-, e - Freeform, god i'm so sorry, holy shit, i need to stop, i was thinking, i'm sorry cryp, i'm still sorry, it was all shits and giggles, it's just a little, jester pretty much holds killing games, just the entire rest of UA, like they were all fucking f e r al, night i reallly do have a thing for one word titles, oo, remember all that slight sympathy you felt for the league, s, so i did five chapters see what i did there-, some of them are dead set on killing each other, the league just got brutal like two months after forming, they didn't want to, they just feel bad when they hurt each other, they just have loyalty to the league, they're the worst, this was going to be So Much Worse, this was supposed to be heists and car chases, w - Freeform, which i realize is probably not that easy to figure out sorry, yeah throw that out the window, you got to see their perspective, you know what causes chaos?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28469160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadburritochortles/pseuds/deadburritochortles
Summary: Years in the future, the League meets again.
Relationships: The League of Lunatics (BR) - Relationship
Comments: 9
Kudos: 6
Collections: Broken Reality Server





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Durple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Durple/gifts), [Von1508](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Von1508/gifts), [Cryptic_Crypto_Cryptids](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptic_Crypto_Cryptids/gifts), [Potato_Tot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potato_Tot/gifts).



> Yep! This became less actualvillains! and more future fic, though trust me, they get brutal later on. Also! I pretty much used terry's actualvillain!jester because plagiarism i guess

**_22:00 - 22:52_ **

**_Days remaining until the reunion: 2_ **

Fool isn’t desperate, per se. Pragmatic would be a more accurate statement. And it is  _ pragmatic  _ of her to get this goddamn favor for Ter-  _ Jester _ over with before an army of clones appears at her doorstep. Being indebted to Jester is...odd to her. She’s reminded of earlier days, days where things weren’t exactly as unpleasant as she liked to joke they were. Days where they were friends.

But those days are over, and so are their comrade days - to be honest, everyone is reduced to an old friend/asset in her book. If she happens to see them in passing, she’ll wave. If she needs a favor, she’ll give them a call, and if they all suddenly decide to concoct a scheme together, it’s not like she’ll say no.

There was always uncertainty every time one of them met on opposite sides of the battlefield - two groups going for the same thing, being tasked to target another old member. There would be a tentative stare, and a choice: Turn a blind eye, or…don’t.

The League fades into the past more and more each time someone chooses the latter.

Jester is probably the one she interacts with the least. After the League…after it was somehow just pulled out from under them without any warning, Terry got her shit together. It was…annoying. Terry was reckless, and kind of an idiot really. They were the type of chaotic that was  _ fun _ . 

_ Jester _ was meticulous, strategic, almost  _ snobbish _ . It reminded Fool of herself, but…worse. Jester doesn’t even use knives, stating that they were simply too inefficient. Fool doesn’t even want to get into the stupidity of that statement. 

But even with all their shortcomings, Jester has resources that Fool (begrudgingly) admits are a little, just an infinitesimal amount, more impressive than hers. 

The conversation they had had went something like this:

_ “And here I thought I would be asking  _ you  _ for help.” _

_ Fool grits her teeth. “Well, times have changed.” _

_ “What do you even need it for?” ‘It’ refers to the...you know what, she doesn’t really want to mention it. _

_ “There are some creeps out there, I don’t really question them.” The real answer was probably just eugenics, but that’s hardly relevant. _

_ “Well, you’re gonna have to do me a favor for it.” _

_ No _ shit,  _ Fool thinks. “And what’ll that be?” _

_ “Lore Keeper - her quirk at least. We’ve hardly talked, and I can’t get a hold of her. I’m assuming you can?” _

_ Fool gives the most polite smile she could muster - if Jester remembers her well enough, then they’ll know that it’s more annoyed than anything. “Of course. Do I need to give it to you before you fulfill your end of the bargain or are we meeting in the middle?” _

_ Jester waves her hand dismissively. “You can figure it out.” _

Fool did not in fact figure it out, and now she’s tracking down Lore Keeper at whatever-the-fuck o’clock, carrying a syringe of sedatives and a false demeanor of placidity.

Behind the hospital, Fool spots her. 

Lore Keeper was hard to keep in contact with. She disappeared and reappeared at her heart’s content, and you’ll most likely find her sleeping on someone’s couch than in the middle of an alleyway. 

At least, Fool thinks so. Perhaps Lore Keeper changed as well, though for some reason she didn't expect it. She hadn’t expected Jester to change either really, but she guesses it makes sense. The League was only around for two years, but its disbandment must have affected them all  _ somehow _ . 

(Fool wonders how Tiny’s handling it - she really needs to catch up with them at some point.)

Well, no use thinking about it now. Lore Keeper’s an easy target when she’s not alert.

The sedative flows through Lore Keeper’s bloodstream, and something akin to guilt flows through Fool’s.

Maybe, just maybe, she’s a little sorry.

(While closing up Club Afterlife in the wee hours of the morning, she wonders if Lore Keeper will be able to make it to their reunion this year.)

* * *

**_23:02 - 23:27_ **

**_Days remaining until the reunion: 2_ **

Terry isn’t enjoying this.

Lore Keeper was hardly being cooperative, and sure, being traded like cattle isn’t  _ refreshing _ , but she’s being selfish. Why can’t she just  _ stop struggling _ and make it easier for both of them?

They’re in a van - stereotypical, she knows, but fitting - driving to an associate's place.

“What the  _ fuck _ Terry?” It feels like the 90th time they’ve asked that.

Terry winces at the name, but it’s swiftly replaced with a smile. “It’s been a while.” Despite the years that passed, she’s still  _ slightly  _ happy when she sees her old teammates, even when the circumstances are less than ideal.

“Don’t ‘it’s been a while’ me. Why the hell did Fool…did she drug me? Fuck - and here I thought we had gotten along last time we met.” The last part is almost a whisper, and Terry’s sure that it wasn’t meant for her.

So, she asks about it anyway.

“Oh? When was the last time you guys spoke?”

“Does it look like I want to talk to you?”   
  


“Well, this is probably the last conversation you’ll actually want to remember in a while, so.”   
  
“Barely.”   
  
The drive afterward is quiet, the only chatter found being the one from the busted radio.

Minutes later Lore Keeper is supposedly sitting in a lab across town from Terry’s headquarters, and there's an anxious pit in her stomach.

She knows just who to call so she could ignore it.

“Think you’re willing to set up another game?”

The voice, made tinny from the shitty phone speaker, echoes throughout the room. “Sure.”

Terry hangs up and leans back in her chair. 

At least the day’ll  _ end _ well.

* * *

**_23:34 - 00:14_ **

**_Days remaining until the reunion: 2_ **

Durple thinks Jester needs better hobbies.

It isn’t the first time she’s been called down to Jester’s headquarters, but it’s certainly the latest. Usually it’ll be midday, Durple will be busy trying to build a crime syndicate through sheer willpower and reputation while also trying to get some semblance of education without any legal identification, and Jester will call her over to work her magic on a gaggle of (mostly) random civilians.

It’s inconvenient, but it sure as hell pays well.

The walk to Jester’s place is miraculously uneventful.

“Hey,” Durple says as she walks in. 

The person at the front desk - who she still doesn’t know the name of; for some strange reason, no one has name tags of any kind, even if everything is set up like a pseudo-office building - looks up, before letting out a curt, “They’re in the atrium. There are about twelve, if you need to know. You’ll get paid after.”

It’s what they say almost every time, though the number varies each visit. Some days it’ll be five, some days forty. It’s not like it matters, Durple can do it either way.

The heavy doors of the reception area close behind her with a too-soft  _ hiss _ .

Durple is always tempted to check out the other rooms in the building - though she often visits, she’s never been given an actual tour of the place - but she has better self-control than that. Not to mention that most people in this building would probably try to murder her if she started snooping.

Though that wasn’t exactly out of the norm, people trying to kill her, it was still an unpleasant thought.

The atrium was at the end of the hallway, and it’s just as sprawling as it always is. It isn’t as bright as Durple is used to, most likely because of the time, but everything is still mainly visible. The skylight is daunting, knowing what’s going to occur under it, and Durple is tempted to leave. But, she’s tempted to leave every time, and until the day where she can truly call herself a coward, she won’t ever try.

(It isn’t  _ really _ cowardice to not partake in something like this, but it feels like it. Here is one of the only ways she’s able to keep in contact with Jester, someone whose presence is commonly fleeting, and she doesn’t want to for what? It’s not that she's never witnessed death, and it’s  _ really _ not that she’s never been the cause of it, so  _ why? _

She doesn’t think she’ll find the answer any time soon.)

There’s a cough from somewhere up above, and Durple looks up to see Jester waving a hand, leaning on the mezzanine’s railing.    
  


“Hey Durple. Think you’ll be able to start in like...ten minutes? The hostages are on one of the higher floors, and I need to be somewhere where I can watch.”   
  
Durple nods and starts climbing up the stairs.

Ten minutes later, Jester is somewhere on the higher levels, twelve hostages are attempting to murder each other, and Durple is vividly reminded of when she first discovered this aspect of her quirk.

It’s not a…great memory, but it has a small, small sense of triumph in it.

An hour later, Durple is climbing up the stairs, accessing the scene in front of her.

There’s a single person left standing, six bodies half fallen over the railing, slumped into one sad heap, someone was impaled by a glass shard, and four bodies are all lined up perfectly, as though they’re just sleeping.

Durple knows better. The winner must have one hell of a quirk, if it was them that knocked out four people seemingly effortlessly. She’d have to ask them if they wanted to join her. 

If it was someone else who had done that, someone who’s residing in one of those corpses right now, then she’d have to talk to Jester about wasting potential.

Not like they’d listen, anyway.

With wide eyes, the victor of their makeshift Hunger Games stares at Durple.

Durple smiles back, and it doesn’t slip when Jester appears behind them.

“Hi!” Jester says, and the look on the winner’s face is  _ far _ too funny for the situation.

Durple laughs regardless.

Jester continues her spiel - she’s heard this so many times, it’s practically ingrained into her memory. They’ll offer the winner a spot in either of their crime rings, the winner will say yes or no, will choose which they’ll join regardless of their first answer, and everyone will be on their merry way.

Jester doesn’t seem to tire of it. Durple does.

As she walks out the atrium, armed with another recruit and a weird sense of nostalgia at that very word, she hears a faint  _ See you at the reunion _ .

She curses internally - another late night planning session it is then.

Might as well grab something to eat first.

* * *

**_00:21 - 1:18_ **

**_Days remaining until the reunion: 2_ **

The Denny’s isn’t the same as it was before. Now, this is to be expected. It’s not like everything was supposed to last. This was a  _ college town _ , people were only supposed to pass through after achieving whatever they wanted, or failing miserably.

No one was expecting the place to feel like such a different entity after so many people left, though.

A few visitors was fine, cozy, but that was only because there were still new people passing through, there was familiarity and newness all in one place.

And then there wasn’t anymore.

It felt like everything in the town was having a plug pulled out, really.

The jingle of the door opening brings Mar back to reality.

“Hey boss,” they say jokingly. Durple lets out a small laugh.

Quiet hangs in the air.

“What can I get for you?”

Mar’s pretty sure that no one from the League - no, no one in the whole  _ town _ \- knows Denny’s actual menu. They’ll all just wave their hand and say something like  _ corn dog _ while hoping for the best.

Durple scratches her head. “...Pancakes?”

Mar sighs internally.  _ What should I have expected? _

Minutes later, Durple is walking out with a burger in hand, and Mar’s shift is about to end. 

The oddly lukewarm air hits them full force.

They’re taking a simple stroll, trying to figure out where they want to go - they really should’ve made some sort of plans, but instead they’ve decided to let the night guide them.

The first thing they’re led to is the old Shrine. The building was brought down a while ago, replaced with a huge, gaudy thing, tacky neon lights lining the pink outer walls. 

The town steps on the remains of their Shrine, just as their god had stepped on them.

Slowly but surely, they became a city of bloody footsteps.

The High Priestess of the Shrine hadn’t been seen since, and maybe ages ago the town would probably care enough to open a missing case for her, but well.

The odd occurrences the town went through hadn’t stopped, just changed. At some point or another,  _ wonky time shit _ became  _ blood stains from who knows where. _ Unpleasant, but it sure as hell fit the theme.

Mar approaches the bouncer, pays the entry fee, and absentmindedly shows their I.D - they’ve only turned 21 this year, and they’ can’t say they’re all too happy about it.

One curt nod later, they’re standing in the only semblance of nightlife that Truth or Consequences has to offer - other than crime, of course. The inside of Club Afterlife smells like everywhere else Mar seems to inhabit, though it doesn’t look the part. Bubbles are in the air, and though they’re whimsical, they’re extremely inconvenient. The walls are as surprisingly clean as just like every time Mar visits. The lights pulse in almost every color - bar green and purple of course, because the owners of this place are spiteful above all else.

Speaking of the owners, Mar thinks they spot Aki talking to Cato.

Poor, poor victim. If Traitor’s the same person they remember from last time they met (...what was that, two years ago?), there’s a high chance Cato’s either selling his life secret or losing an organ.

There’s a good reason this place is called Afterlife, after all - you know, other than literally all the other reasons.

Mar walks towards the bar, and wonders why the night led them to the bottom of a shot glass.

_ Raise a fucking glass to the terrors of the mortal coil, or something _ , is their last coherent thought.

* * *

**_1:49 - 1:57_ **

**_Days remaining until the reunion: 1_ **

Aki sometimes regrets opening this bar, but heh, it’s a step up from whatever the hell their uncle was doing.

The person in front of them - they couldn’t bother to catch their name - is going on and on and  _ on _ about how someone stole their friend’s cousin’s something’s liver while it was being transplanted and Aki almost  _ wishes _ it was Fool’s comrades that did it so they could nod along like they didn’t watch the perpetrators plan the entire thing.

He doesn’t want to be rude, but Night is he drained. “That’s terrible - but would you excuse me for a bit, I have someone waiting for me, owner business and all.” They rub their neck, trying to look anywhere but the man’s face.

The stranger lets out a strained chuckle. “Oh, sorry for taking your time.” They scurry off, and Aki breathes a sigh of relief.

That’s been happening a lot lately. People walking up to them, talking like their old friends. He’s sick and tired of it. He’s sick and tired in general.

They're about to go to the back room when a random straggler grabs their arm.

“Long time no see Aki! You didn’t come to reunion last year!” They’re clearly inebriated, and Aki hastily throws them off - their words don’t go ignored, though.

Aki wonders who the person is as they walk to the backroom - if they knew about the reunion, maybe they were from the last generation of the League? He tries to list off the members, but finds that the only person they can name is Fool.

_ That can’t be right _ , they think,  _ Fool, Terry…Durple! Yeah, Durple. There was someone called fucking…short? Tall? Height? Something like that. _

It’s not strange. Aki hadn’t been part of the League well before they dissolved, they shouldn’t have expected to remember all their names, but still…

The backroom door closes, and with it, so do their thoughts on the matter.

He had too much to worry about already, forgetting a few people’s names was the least of his problems.

* * *

**_2:01 - 2:15_ **

**_Days remaining until the reunion: 1_ **

Leaning against the back wall of Club Afterlife, our so-called  _ stranger _ wishes that being an evil genius was more appreciated by old teammates you used to call friends. You’d think that since they only showed up a few times like a guest star in a holiday special, they’d be appreciated more.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

Bored, Cato looks for trouble in the lake of bodies. Truth be told, she’s been doing that a lot recently. Their quirk only worked under specific -  _ annoying  _ \- circumstances, and he finds that people seem to be more drawn to him when they’re offering up a brilliant scheme to liven up the night to the next person that happens to be within ear range.

  
Tonight, the only possibilities of  _ spicing up the night _ are by adding lime to your shot of tequila.

You’d think that the  _ only fucking club in the city _ would be more exciting than…whatever the hell tonight was.

They push their way to the exit and are met with cold air, a stark contrast to the stickiness of Club Afterlife. Staying in there for too long felt like being marinated in the dregs of their city.

Hah, just like staying in this town felt like marinating in the dregs of the rest of the world.

The air suddenly doesn’t feel as refreshing.

The soles of her feet slap against the ground as she walks through the city.

He walks like a member of a band that was left behind when they turned the corner, and the car that honks at him feels like the sound of a far-off horn.

In reality, it’s his coworker.

“Cato,” A familiar voice yells, “What are you doing?”

“Jamie! What are  _ you _ doing driving at 2 am?”   
  


“I asked first.” They sigh, and Cato has to strain their ears to hear it over the car engine. “Just get in the car - you want to check on the newest subject, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

The two of them worked in an - obviously - illegal lab that focused on capricious quirks. Cato helps formulate the plans, and Jamie makes sure they go off without a hitch. Something was eerie about the fact that Cato’s quirk actually  _ worked _ when it came to their lab, but it wasn’t all that important.

They get in the car, and Jamie revs the engine.

They add to the skid marks left by those who came before.

* * *

**_2:29 - 4:33_ **

**_Days remaining until the reunion: 1_ **

Intern and Tetris look conflicted when they spot her sitting in the cell.

Lore Keeper finds this whole thing unnecessary. Quirk suppressants are understandable, but the cage is excessive - it’s not like she’s a bird. The only thing on her that flies is her hair, and that’s only floating at best.

She appreciates the cleanliness though. 

“…Hey Lore Keeper.” Intern draws out the words, and Lore Keeper thinks that she’d laugh if it wasn’t so irritating. If they  _ really _ feel awkward about this, why not just let her out. Instead of feigning guilt, just pick a side.

“Are you here to let me out, or are you just going to stand there?”

“Well, we would, but you have an extremely strong Capricious Quirk and…” Tetris looks at Intern for help.

“Yeah.” Intern nods. “Think of this as a compliment!”

Lore Keeper did not, in fact, think of it as a compliment. 

It wasn’t exactly a betrayal - there were no official rules to not hurt old League members - but it was just…disconcerting.

And of course, no one enjoys being drugged without consent.

“If you’re not here to help or bring me food, you can leave.”

The two look relieved.

She leans back and falls into a fitful sleep.

She dreams of incinerating dancing mannequins.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it got ~worse~
> 
> *realizes i gave recruiter the longest pov* :(  
> *realizes it isn't neptotism because I made him an absolute ass* :)
> 
> yeah there are,,,,,alot of triggers, though most of them can be skipped if you just don't read cryp's pov in the beginning - though the dehumanization is also in Court's part :( also! there's pretty vague mentions of the f word, yeah. though it's not actually said. also! it's not actually that bad for cryp right now! They're still slightly coherent! And they can feel human emotion! Like sadness! And they're not a dog for the league! most of the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a bit shorter, but the next chapter is part one of the actual reunion so-

**_There aren’t clocks, in that Nightforsaken cage_ **

**_Days remaining until the reunion: Cryptic doesn’t really want to think of that_ **

Cryptic is rotting from the inside out.

Eating just makes it worse. Thinking does too. Maybe existing is playing a part in it.

She tried to cut out her stomach recently. And then her arms. And then her heart. She was too weak for any of it - or maybe she was a goddamn _coward._

She was too afraid to face the legion of the dead waiting for her.

The last time the League had brought her out, they had decided to dig up a corpse. The League themselves couldn’t identify which of the UA members it was - _its_ face shredded to pieces - but Cryptic knew, of course she did. 

Elysian laid in their grave.

And of course, the League found a way to make it worse.

Cryptic spent half of that reunion confined with a dead body in glass.

And then, and _then_.

_“You know, we’ve pretty much just made her do what she does every year, and whoever that cadaver is, they’re still a friend, it’s not that bad.”_

_“Well, we could make it worse.”_

_“_ Oh?”

_“Hear me out here…”_

She returned to the apartment that day with a full stomach - though it didn’t stay that way for long.

The year before that was…objectively better, but worse, in a way.

She didn’t feel human, that year.

A puppet was a better word.

She…doesn’t really want to get into it.

She doesn’t think she can. Cryptic’s pretty sure that if she thinks about it for too long, she’ll be someone else again.

 _Gaping maws and amber that you could just barely breathe in and absolutely_ hideous _laughs and the feeling of dying a hundred times over - the probing feeling of something inhumane, and the probing feeling of a human leading it to feast_. 

_The welcome feeling of it finally doing so, and the welcome feeling of being taken off a leash._

Cryptic shudders, and before she can stop herself, she picks out clumps of fur. 

It stings. She remembers to breathe - at least the air, stagnant and sticky as it is, only sticks to her throat, not drips down it.

A welcome feeling.

The year before that - that was the first reunion.

Well, that’s when they built the box to begin with. She had actually been enjoying it, at the time. She hated the League - so much that she’s sure they gave her a cage simply to contain it all - but they had simply let her sit there, albeit tied up. A change of scenery was enough for her.

And then, they had simply retrofitted Lil’s jar. 

Lil’s, who as far as Cryptic knows, is somewhere out of town.

She’d call them a coward, if she didn’t want to be in the exact same place.

The year before that, the Unidentified Attendants had been brought down.

It was pretty anticlimactic, actually. Cryptic only remembers bits and pieces. Terry had said something about a trial run, and an insurmountable urge to kill had pulsed through the members of UA like a heatwave.

Sometime later, Cryptic came back to bloodied fur and the taste of iron in her mouth.

A piece of a beating heart lay near her.

A half-built atrium, broken in by the blood of her friends.

Cryptic had been shoved into this apartment afterward - it seemed to have one window and no way out, and architectural blunder, really - like a spoil of war shoved onto a trophy case. She had been on the brink of death herself, and well.

She had read about cadaveric blood transfusions, once. She just didn’t realize that the League knew people who could perform it.

It felt like sludge was pumping through her veins.

The apartment had smelled like blood for months after. 

Every year, another part of her becomes something else - that isn’t her fur, that isn’t her stomach, not her teeth, not her hands, not her brain, not her blood. Her very being is in a metaphorical box somewhere far off. 

One day, the League will find its way to that box, and after that, well…

Maybe then, the legions of the dead won’t be so daunting to march with. 

There’s a rattling in the vents. 

Cryptic hasn’t had a visitor in ages.

She grabs a knife - because if she doesn’t have the courage to stab herself, why doesn’t she just practice on somebody else?

* * *

**_7:02 - 7:34_ **

**_Days remaining until the reunion: 1_ **

The laundromat feels the same as it did last year - a relic from a different era, with the type of air you only find in buildings where the air conditioning is left off for a little too long. Stagnant. Abandoned. 

The vending machine is gone, moved to the warehouse. The washing machines smell like a dirty sink and laundry that someone forgot to put out to dry, marinated in the scent of cleanness so much that it became dirty again

Court feels something next to his leg, and without hesitation, stomps on it.

There’s a satisfying crack as the jar breaks beneath his feet.

He’s not here for that, though.

Cryptic is only let out of the apartment once a year. 

It’s usually Jester that comes to get her, but it doesn’t really matter. She just needs to be at the reunion.

As the last member of UA that they can properly get ahold of - the others are either in hiding or taken care of - she’s become something of a display for the League. They’ll keep her in that prison of an apartment, and after a year of isolation, she gets the _privilege_ of being shoved in a glass box for the League’s endless entertainment.

It’s _hilarious_ , really. The League seemed to have a thing for putting people in glass containers.

Maybe one year they’ll bite the bullet and decapitate her.

 _Rat for dinner_ , Court thinks. He can’t hold back his laugh.

The vent is hanging off its hinges.

The interior of the vents is familiar to him. His blanket is still blowing around them somewhere, and he’s assuming that some of his belongings are clanging around as well. This was his home for what he considers his Actual Childhood, and it feels…smaller than he remembers.

He wonders how Cryptic copes with hearing random bangs in the middle of the night, then figures that they probably don’t cope at all.

Minutes later, he crawls out of the vent shaft.

Cryptic isn’t happy to see him.

In fact, she stabs him in the arm.

_Fun._

“ _Ow_ \- don’t fucking touch me, Night.” He grabs at his arm. It was a graze, but still, jeez.

Cryptic seems to look larger, at that moment. Her arm swings down again.

Court’s faster.

There’s a sizzle, and in a few moments, there’s a red patch on Cryptic’s arm.

“Don’t try that again - wouldn’t want to get your fur dirty.” He lets out a strained laugh, and there’s a look in Cryptic eyes that he recognizes: Rage.

“Oh, did I strike a nerve?”

She still grips the knife like it's her last lifeline.

Night’s name _, this is annoying._

“Am I supposed to be scared of you? I mean come _on_ \- you’re a fucking rodent.” He spreads his hands out like he’s revealing some huge idea. “Cryptic the Rat, the fallen hero of Truth or Consequences, the current killer of the Unidentified Attendants and plaything for the League. Do you want me to engrave it on your glass box? Maybe give you a name tag?”

He puts a hand over his chest. “Or a _collar?_ ”

She goes in for another stab.

“Night - you just can’t quit can you? And here I thought you’d be happy to see me. Aren’t you supposed to appreciate company after time alone?” He plucks the knife from her hands. 

“Here’s some rules. One, don’t try and hurt me. Two, stay with me in the vents. Don’t, and I’ll blow this fucking building out like it's your brains. If you’re good I’ll give you food or something.” Court’s enjoying this. It’s not often that he’s allowed to kill hostages, actually. Most of the time they’re always _necessary_ or _a bargaining chip._ Cryptic is just an overgrown toy, to them. Something from your childhood bedroom that you keep just for the fun of it.

Cryptic grunts something out.

“Speak up when you talk to me.”

“I don’t want your food, asshole.” Her voice sounds like ripped paper and nails on a chalkboard.

They should make her do karaoke this year - the results would be absolutely amazing.

“Oh come on, if you collapse from hunger no one wins.”

_And…she’s back to the silence treatment._

“Look, I know, you ate what, two of your friends? Tore one of their hearts out, the whole shebang - but at least you're alive. And you have a part of them with you wherever you go.”

Cryptic glowers. 

What they did to Cryptic was possibly the peak of their criminal career. It was just torture on torture on torture, and it just got worse every year. 

She was more of a guinea pig, at this point, though…that’s a topic for another time.

“Come on, out we go.”

Minutes later, the two are crawling out of the vents.

Well, Court was crawling. Cryptic was collapsing.

“The fuck are you, a stick - _Night_ you’re pathetic, how does Jester fucking deal with this?”

He’s met with silence once again.

“Okay, off to the Warehouse we go. Try to keep up, Jerry. Hah, get it, because you’re a rat - nevermind, I’ll save that joke for later.”

* * *

**_7:49 - 7:54_ **

**_Days remaining until the reunion: 1_ **

The Warehouse, the League’s secondary base, is actually rather busy, most of the time. All the members have access to it, and it felt more human than the old Laundromat - not that that _mattered_.

The more you looked around though, the eerier the building felt.

There are multiple body parts crudely nailed onto the wall. No internal organs, just arms and legs and fingers of traitors. People that weren’t worth remembering. People they killed for the fun of it.

Somewhere, there’s a jar of human hair - this one actually isn’t that bad, they had just asked Hekate for it a few years ago.

There’s multiple human brains in glass containers, Devon’s property, of course. They had used it to test just how Devon’s quirk worked on neurodivergent and people with ailments of the brain, such as dementia. It was…very informative.

There was a bookshelf next to the vending machine - half of them are sure there’s a secret passage behind it, but they haven’t found the proper book yet.

And of course, there’s the jars. 

They line the shelves on the walls, holding various substances, ranging from hallucinogens, blood, …other human fluids, the like. There’s even liquid stone, thanks to Birdie.

Currently, there was a lopsided banner put up, the words **_HAPPYREuni_** on it in bold letters. 

Durple stands atop a ladder, sighing at the too-large letters. 

_Well_ , she thought, _At least it fits._

There wasn’t much decoration for reunions. Half the time they aren’t even in the Warehouse, and when they are, it‘s mostly to antagonize Cryptic or plot out their next stunt.

The door slams open.

“Ah, hey Durple. I’ve got Cryptic.”

She waves a hand, not even bothering to turn around. “You know what to do.”

There’s a ringing, various noises of disagreement, and a yelp.

“Fuck - _you’ll pay for that_.”

There’s a flash of heat.

“I’m pretty sure I melted some of the glass.”

“It just gives her more air holes, who cares?” She can’t see him, but she’s pretty sure Court just nodded.

There’s a lull in the conversation, Durple taking the time to climb off the ladder.

“…Any word on Faerie?”

Durple pauses. “He’s still off the grid. He’s probably mad because Elysian’s dead - I mean, how’d you think he’d feel if UA had killed one of us.”  
  


Court chuckles, “I think he’d be thrilled, if he knew what we would’ve done left alive.”

Durple makes a noise of agreement.

* * *

**_7:54 - 8:01_ **

**_Days remaining until the reunion: Ghost wouldn’t like to know._ **

Faerie is, for all intents and purposes, dead.

He died when the League first started killing. He died when they upped the ante to the point where the Unidentified Attendants weren’t just fighting nuisances while annoying civilians, but instead genuinely protecting the city from a threat. He died when Terry proposed a plan to Durple, and he died when he saw Elysian for the last time.

Ghost, in some ironic twist of fate, lived.

It’s not like their entire family is dead, they aren’t completely alone in the world. It’s just…

Night, they can’t believe it sometimes. They don’t want to think about it, either.

There’s a quiet knock at the door.

“Ghost…you okay in there?”

Aki. Of course it’s Aki. 

Ghost doesn’t answer. How could they, when he still regularly keeps in contact with someone from the group that _killed_ Elysian, that made almost half the people Ghost regularly kept in contact with faceless bodies and spilled innards.

There’s another knock. “Look, I know you hate them, I…kind of hate the League too, but at least talk to me. We both know I wasn’t actually part of the League when it happened.”

You know what, it may be unfair of them, but they don’t _care_ if Aki kind of hates them, they don’t fucking _care_ if Aki wasn’t part of the League when it happens. And Ghost doesn’t know why he thinks they do.

He keeps talking.

It feels like listening to artificial static through crisp speakers. The clearest nothing one could ever hear.

* * *

**_8:05 - 8:09_ **

**_Days remaining until the reunion: 1_ **

People around town seem to be making themself scarce. The streets are emptier than usual, and it feels like even the street lights decided to dim. 

Aki feels like this is a direct attack from Night themself - it wouldn’t be the first time, after all.

Not for the first time, he wishes he could leave Truth Or Consequences.

He thought that going to the League’s reunion would do. Then he thought opening the bar would do. Then he thought that if they got rid of Night’s Priestess, it would be enough to tell the god that he wanted _out_.

If he goes to the reunion, he’s suggesting they kill Cryptic once and for all.

There’s a brush against his shoulder.

“Watch where you’re going,” Aki says, and he’s about to be off on his merry little way when they grab at his arm.

People have been doing that _far_ too much lately.

“Hey Traitor! See you soon!”

The streets empty once more.

Aki hates this.

He wants _out_ , out of this town, out of these old families, out of these familiar strangers.

A resolve they didn’t know they had hardens.

They’re going to get out of this town or die trying.

* * *

**_8:10 - 8:18_ **

**_Days remaining until the reunion: 1_ **

Jamie makes their way to the labs.

There’s the faint sound of screaming.

As she walks through the door, she hears…disco?

And that’s when the world tilts on its axis.

_Fucking capricious quirks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I a p o l o g i z e for what is coming next, but hey, cipher is doing okay for now! She'll be alive! ANd she's doing! Things! Yeah!


End file.
